


A Vast Improvement

by MildredMost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Erotic Electrostimulation, Fear, Lies, M/M, Monsters, Monsters Trying to Pass as Human, Power Imbalance, Scars, Secret Identity, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: When Mike Crew is tasked with making Martin Blackwood fall for him, he knows exactly what to do. What could be more romantic than taking him to the top of every tall building in London and showing him the view? It's a mystery why Martin seems so nervous.





	A Vast Improvement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arazsya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/gifts).



Mike looked up at the thing that had uncovered him, feeling rain falling on his face. 

“You’re not us. Him,” said the man who held the shovel. 

“Who am I supposed to be?” he asked in a voice that barely sounded like his own. The thing - man-shaped, silly accent, removal van parked nearby - shrugged.

“Dunno. Just got sent for you. Said someone was buried what shouldn’t be. Thought it was…someone else. Who are you?”

“Michael Crew,” Mike said. Or that was who he had been, at least. 

The thing shrugged and wrenched him out of his grave, picking him up like he weighed nothing much at all. 

“Who sent you?” Mike asked. 

“Peter Lukas. I’m his now.”

A _Lukas?_

This thing didn’t know or care why it had been sent for him. It pulled open the van door and threw him inside. Mike lay down shakily next to what appeared to be a coffin, and closed his eyes. 

He slid back into the half consciousness that was all he could manage with the Hunt’s bullet burning in him. There were dreams of being trapped, and pain. His lungs smothering. Someone cut the bullet out of him and that hurt so much he tried to disappear into the Vast to get away from it, but he was tied to the stinking, decaying earth till they got it out. Once it was gone, he slept properly at last and dreamed of the sky. 

xxxx

When Mike woke up, it was to find Peter Lukas sitting on the end of his bed, all unsettling smiles and chumminess. 

“Mike!” he said. “You’re back with us. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?”

“Alright,” Mike said. He felt his chest for the bullet hole, running his fingers around the indentation. 

Peter came back in carrying two cups of tea, and somehow making this mundane action look like a scene from a horror film. The fixed smile, Mike wondered? Is this how _he_ looked when he tried to be human? He glanced at himself in the mirror but could only see an emaciated gremlin looking back. My god he needed to feed. 

“Now then,” Peter said, sitting down again. 

Peter Lukas, it transpired, wanted someone for the Lonely. And it wasn’t Mike. 

No, Peter had found a boy - well, been given the boy, by the Beholding - with a core of loneliness twisting right through him like the message in a stick of seaside rock. Peter’s words. He was absolutely perfect. But this boy had been… _resistant_ so far. And Peter wanted him badly.

“Make him lonelier,” Peter said, stirring his drink. 

“I’m not sure how I’d do that,” Mike had said, spooning sugar into his mug. He looked at his pale thin hand as he stirred his tea. 

“Nonsense, you couldn’t be more suited to the task. He likes men,” Peter said, ticking his points off on his fingers. “He likes scars. He likes people who are only barely human. And poetry!” He looked around at the groaning bookshelves. “Any Keats?”

“He belongs to the Beholding. Won’t he know about me?” Mike said. 

“Doesn’t seem to. The Archivist isn’t very generous with sharing his research amongst his colleagues. And as he is currently neither here nor there,” Peter said with a jolly chuckle. “His little assistants are quite alone. Elias made very sure to give this particular one to me, but of course very sensibly, Martin is suspicious of anything Bouchard does.”

“And what if I decide I want him for the Vast?” Mike said. “I have just as much interest in taking anything I can from Beholding as you do.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Peter said, smiling and shaking his head. “ You owe me, we both know that. I sent my man to dig you up. I could have left you there for an eternity, all alone. Don’t you think the Powers were aware of you? But they chose to ignore you, or watch. I acted. Now I’m not going to force you to do anything…” Peter paused as the wall lights brightened around them. He laughed. “That idea upsets you does it? Nevertheless, you owe me. And I want Martin Blackwood to think I’m his only option.”

Mike blinked in the slipstream of that little speech. The sheer arrogance of Peter thinking that he had the authority to make demands of Mike was quite breathtaking. But Mike was...well perhaps grateful was too strong a word, but indebted, certainly. And whatever silly pettiness this was, it didn’t sound difficult. 

“Alright,” he said. It was just a different way of making someone fall, after all. “I’ll need money.”

“What for?” asked Peter, but he was already reaching for his cheque book. 

“For all the romance,” Mike said. 

“Very good,” Peter said brightly, dropping a cheque into Mike’s lap. He got up. “Off you go then, break his heart. Though I really would advise you to feed first. You look terrible.”

Mike looked at himself in the mirror again when Peter had gone. He did look like hell - cheeks sunken, arms and legs like sticks, a shadow between each rib. Some honey trap he’d make. Time to find some fear. 

xxxx

A week later, Mike was ready. He’d fed - on several large fry-ups from the greasy spoon down the road and the terror of a scaffolding apprentice in an unexpected gale force wind - and now looked significantly less like he was dying. Keeping weight on had always been a battle; the power that fizzed and surged beneath his scarred skin had always gnawed at him, ever since the lightning strike. He burned through calories like a long distance runner. He’d never had a hope of growing tall, but at least he attempted to keep some flesh on his bones. 

In a new roll-neck sweater to hide his scar, and a thick wool coat he hoped made him look a bit bulkier, he pushed through the double doors into the church hall. The “Feeling Fear” support group was meeting in a side room just down a hallway lined with tattered drawings made by the Sunday school. 

He bent over the sign-in book and was pleased to see ‘Martin Blackwood’ was already scrawled there. He signed his own name as just ‘Mike’. Peter might be of the opinion that Martin didn’t know much about ‘Michael Crew’ but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Not yet. 

The room smelled of the dusty electric heater someone had switched on, and bad coffee. Mike looked around. So which was Martin? He’d asked Peter for a description but Peter had been monstrously unhelpful. “Young. Lonely eyes. Looks wounded.” Useless. 

The group leader came in, shutting the door behind her. “Good afternoon everyone. Get yourselves a drink and we can get started,” she said encouragingly. 

Mike got up and went to the urn, taking sly glances at the other group members. There were three women and four men. One of the men was older and had a walking stick. The other two were fairly young but looked so alike that Mike could only think they were brothers. So the big guy sitting apart from everyone, staring into a polystyrene cup - this was Martin. 

_Well_. Mike liked men tall, and he liked them big. A cliche obviously, considering his own size and build, but there it was. Martin was both, and on top of that had the most delicious waves of fear and distress coming off him. Mike wanted to sniff the air around him like a wolf. He smiled at the thought of walking over and doing just that, then realised Martin Blackwood was tentatively looking back at him. 

Mike crossed the room to him. “Mike,” he said, holding out his hand. 

“Martin,” Martin replied, taking it. “Oh,” he said, snatching his hand away as Mike sparked off a tiny electric shock at the contact. _Christ, contain yourself Crew_ , Mike thought.

“Sorry. Static electricity - keeps happening. Nylon carpet,” he said, and Martin looked down at the unpleasant floor covering. Mike sat down beside him. 

“So, do you find this useful?” he said. 

“I think so?” Martin said. “I’m claustrophobic - well, and other things but, mostly that.”

“Same for me,” Mike said with a chuckle. “I got buried alive.”

“Oh, right,” Martin said, a little frown appearing. Mike smoothed the smile from his face. Wrong emotion, monster boy, he chided himself. 

“Sorry, that wasn’t actually funny. I make jokes sometimes when I’m nervous,” Mike lied. 

“Sure,” Martin said. 

There was no time for more, as the Group leader began the discussion. 

Half an hour later, Mike was having a revelation. How had he never thought of coming to a support group before? What an incredible feeding ground. A woman called Julie was describing her fear of heights - how she’d frozen on a climbing wall at the gym and had to be rescued by three people. 

Mike licked his lips, unable to help himself. The fear was palpable and contagious and he could taste it in the air. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, taking a great breath in. Not now though. Opening his eyes again, he could see Martin watching him, worried perhaps that he was having some kind of panic attack. He gave Martin a small ‘I’m being brave’ smile and Martin looked away. 

He sucked in another mouthful of the fear, trying to do it quietly. This one was primed for the Vast and Mike couldn’t wait to give her to them. Too often he was quite far gone by the time he needed to feed - bored, exhausted and emaciated - but feeding so soon after another was a treat he rarely allowed himself. 

The woman finished her story and the group gave a polite round of applause. Mike clapped hardest of all and the lights in the room flared brightly, making the group leader start and stare around at them. 

Mike turned to Martin. “Thank you, you were right,” he said with a smile. Not too toothy, not too chummy. Didn’t want to remind Martin of his new boss after all. “It’s been very helpful. You’ll be here next week?”

“Um, yes?” Martin said. He had dark brown eyes, Mike reflected. So much warmer than his own pale grey ones. Like a nasty storm coming, a man had once said to him - before Mike had shut him up by sucking him off, then pushing him out of a window. He had been a little inelegant in those days. 

“That’s good to know,” Mike said, aware that Julie had her coat on and was on her way out the door. He turned to follow her. 

“Wait,” said Martin behind him. Mike looked back. 

“Yes?” he said, enjoying the nervous way Martin was looking at him.

“I...nothing,” Martin said, looking away again. “See you next week.”

Mike smiled and nodded. He turned back to look for his prey but Julie had slipped away. 

xxxx

The following Saturday, Mike sat down next to Martin straight away. 

“Hi again,” Mike said, and Martin gave a tight smile and nodded at him, taking a sip of his coffee. He filled the flimsy plastic chair in a way Mike appreciated very much, the warmth of his thigh pressing slightly against Mike’s. Mike looked around. 

No Julie this week, but a couple of people who hadn’t been there last time had turned up. Mike sought their fear for a moment, but couldn’t quite pick it up - Martin was quite extraordinarily distracting. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the chair, impatient for the meeting to begin. 

“Nervous?” Martin said, and Mike stopped his drumming. “Don’t worry - they don’t make you speak if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not what I’m nervous about,” Mike said. He shifted forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “It’s you.”

“ _Me_?” Martin said incredulously. 

“Yes. I was going to ask you out after this,” Mike said. 

Martin stared at him, brown eyes round with surprise, and Mike enjoyed the opportunity to look back. 

“Is...is that allowed?” Martin said. 

“I think so,” Mike said with a small laugh. “We’re not in rehab.”

“Oh, yes. Right,” Martin said, going pink. 

“I mean, if you prefer the thrill of the forbidden, we can _pretend_...”

“No, that’s not…”

“Have I got the wrong end of the stick, Martin?” Mike said. 

“No,” Martin said. “I am...I mean, yes, ok. To going out I mean. If um, if you’re sure?”

“I’m very sure,” Mike said, and sat back as the meeting began. 

This week was not quite as satisfying as the last one. Too many positive stories for a start. Martin at least was providing a nice source of nervous fear beside him, but that was more of a little tease leaving him hungrier than ever. 

The dreary stories of small triumphs drew to a close, and Mike joined in the round of applause again. He and Martin both stood, and Martin made a small movement as though to help Mike into his coat, but shoved his hands into his pockets instead. They looked at each other. 

“So…” Martin said. 

“So this might seem a little much, but I have a ticket for the Sky Garden,” Mike said. “Well, tickets. I didn’t know if you’d be coming with me, but I got two just in case.”

“The Sky Garden. You mean that place on top of the skyscraper?” Martin said. 

“Well, not quite on _top_ , but...oh, sorry. Are you afraid of heights?” Mike said, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could. The lights in the room brightened. 

“I’m not, actually,” Martin said firmly. 

“Ah, good,” Mike said, aware his smile was not quite reaching his eyes. “Then, no objections?”

“No objections,” Martin said, but Mike felt fear rise up in him as he said it which enveloped Mike for a moment. Just afraid of _him_ then. Or dates? Intimacy? There had to be some reason a guy like Martin was so alone after all, and it wasn’t because of the warm brown eyes or the broad shoulders, Mike was certain. 

They went by cab (Mike was certainly going to make the most of Peter’s cheque, and anyway he was pretending to be claustrophobic so surely the tube was out) but Martin sat carefully a seat apart and looked out of the window most of the way. Mike was going to have to up his game a little, he thought as they reached Fenchurch street, if there was going to be any seducing happening. 

In the spacious lift to the top, Mike edged a little closer. “Sorry,” he said. “Not great with lifts.”

Martin looked at him but didn’t move away. “Me neither usually. This one isn’t too bad.” 

Mike found himself wanting to lean into Martin’s bulk and feel his warmth, but this lift was some kind of high-speed thing taking them straight to the 35th floor. The doors slid open. 

“I have a table booked at the bar,” Mike said, leading the way. 

Mike felt quite pleased with himself as they took their seats by the huge expanse of windows. A panoramic view of London was stretched out before them, the winter sun was just beginning to set, the wait staff flitting around were very attractive and discreet, and all in all it was very romantic. He looked across at Martin and smiled. “Nice, isn’t it?” he said. 

Martin nodded briefly, looking at the view and then back at Mike with slightly worried eyes. 

“It’s a pity we can’t get out there, feel the wind in our hair,” said Mike, looking back out of the window. He felt a rush of energy at the sensation of height. Martin made a sound beside him and Mike turned to see him holding his head. Shit, vertigo. 

“It’s alright,” he said reassuringly, carefully subduing his Power. He pulled his chair closer and put a hand on Martin’s knee, feeling his warmth beneath the denim. Mike wondered idly if he was as warm as that all over, inside and out. Mike bet he was. He let himself imagine for a moment how Martin might react to Mike’s coldness. Some men he’d fucked hadn’t liked it and shuddered away from him. He wondered if Martin would be like that, or if he’d enjoy the touch of Mike’s icy fingers exploring all his sensitive places. 

“Sorry - I felt a bit odd for a moment,” Martin said a little hoarsely. His cheeks had flushed a little, from the warmth of the bar perhaps, or Mike’s hand on his leg. “I’m better now.”

“You look better,” Mike said, squeezing just an imperceptible amount and then taking his hand away. Was this flirting? It was sort of fun. 4 o’clock in the afternoon was a strange time of day to try and be seductive, but Mike was giving it a good go. “Shall we order?”

Martin nodded, shrugging off his coat. A heavy set of keys fell out of his pocket. 

Martin scooped the keys up quickly, hiding the ‘Magnus Institute’ keyring with his hand. Mike said nothing, but bit down on a smile. 

“They’re for work,” Martin said. “I’m um, I do data entry.” Then he closed his mouth again as though wishing he hadn’t spoken. 

“Do you enjoy it?” Mike persisted, and really, if he hadn’t been a monster and enjoying the delicious nervous energy pouring off the man, he might have had to give this date up as a bad job. The conversation was like pulling teeth. “What’s your boss like?” he said, just as a cruel little experiment. 

“He’s not very well at the moment,” Martin said, and a wash of fear from him hit Mike like a wave slapping against a sea wall. 

So Martin thought the Archivist was in serious trouble then? Mike sensed the hand of Peter in that assessment. 

“But there’s a chance he’ll recover, and I’m just keeping things ticking over in the meantime,” Martin said, his voice rising a little. “We’ve just been under a lot of stress and now everyone’s…” he caught himself. “Well, anyway, you didn’t bring me here to listen to a load of office politics. So what, um do you do?”

“This and that,” Mike said. “I trade in rare books mainly. My parents died when I was very young, and I have some health...complications, so I haven’t ever settled to any kind of office job.”

“Right,” Martin said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Mike tried to arrange his features into a suitable wistful expression. It obviously worked because Martin reached out suddenly and patted his hand. 

“Wait,” Mike said, not prepared for the sudden contact. Martin swayed and half fell against him - the bloody Power getting away from him again. “Martin…” 

“I feel a bit dizzy,” Martin muttered. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.” 

“Perhaps there’s somewhere we can go to get some fresh air. A window, or a terrace or something,” Mike said, helping Martin to sit up. I mean, he wasn’t going to _complain_ about the attractive man swooning against him, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold him up much longer. He slammed down on his Power as hard as he could and Martin blinked and steadied. 

“No!” he said. “Not outside. I’m fine. Honestly.”

With anyone else, Mike would have given them another little taste of vertigo and then suggested going to his place to lie down for a minute. But well, he was supposed to be romancing Martin, wasn’t he? 

“Grand,” he said. “Let’s have a drink then.”

Martin unwound a little after a couple of glasses of wine - enough that he was allowing his eyes to linger on Mike’s more often. Mike allowed his own gaze to drift to Martin’s mouth and managed to steer the conversation away from any precipices - however delightful he found a precipice - and they stuck to books and poetry and the shittiness of the Central Line. It was...pleasant. Enjoyable. Martin was a mixture of sweet and sarky, and Mike enjoyed the blushes which came and went whenever he made a strong point, or caught Mike watching his lips. 

But he couldn’t just spend all evening pouring wine into him. He had to attempt to be a gentleman. 

“Shall we have another drink?” Martin suggested as the waiter cleared their glasses away. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to go,” Mike said. 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Martin said.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I’ve had a good time,” Mike said. “But I’ve got an appointment I can’t cancel.” 

“No, it’s...it’s fine. I had plans too, I mean, it’s Saturday night,” Martin said, going pink at the audacity of his own lies. 

“Will you let me get you a cab?” Mike said apologetically. “Don’t worry, it’s on me.”

“Oh no,” Martin said as Mike beckoned a waiter over and asked if he could arrange it. 

“Oh no, you don’t want a cab?” Mike said. 

“I do! But...It’s a bit embarrassing,” Martin said. “I’ve been sort of living at work. And I’ve got a new boss at the moment who prefers it if I’m...around. On call a bit. He doesn’t keep very normal hours.”

Fucking Peter. Mike almost laughed. Martin clearly had very little contact with the outside world at all these days and on top of that, was being forced to work a night shift. You had to hand it to him, Peter knew his stuff. The total isolation of being awake and working when the whole world was asleep was very effective. 

“That doesn’t sound very pleasant,” Mike said. 

“It’s just temporary,” Martin said, pressing his lips closed. Mike found himself staring at them, wanting to push his own lips against them. He pressed the lift button instead.

“Can I see you again?” he said when they reached the ground floor. 

“What?” Martin said, and there was the fear again though why, Mike couldn’t quite understand. “Well, er alright. Yes. I mean, I’d like that. Sorry, I’m not used to…” Martin waved his arm around. 

“Dating?” Mike said. Martin went pink from his throat to his hairline. 

“Yeah. I really wasn’t expecting, well - this,” he said. 

“Funny you wouldn’t expect it, an attractive guy like you,” Mike said and thoroughly enjoyed watching Martin’s reaction to that. 

“Um, right,” Martin said, biting his lip. “Thanks.” 

Mike grinned. Luckily the cab drew up before Martin could entirely expire from the agony he clearly found flirting to be. 

Mike sighed as he watched the cab depart. By this point on a date he’d usually have a hand on the guy’s cock and his tongue in his mouth. But he was courting him, wasn’t he? So he probably shouldn’t go there, at least not yet. Mike wondered idly if Martin enjoyed being told what to do in bed as much as he was clearly ordered around in life. You’re making him fall in love, he reminded himself. Be sweet. 

Another week, then. Mike looked up into the winter sky and saw clouds gathering over the city. Perhaps a quick journey down to Greenwich to see how the cable cars would react to a little electrical surge. It was a perfect evening for it after all. 

xxxx

The following Saturday, Mike waited outside the meeting for Martin. 

“Let’s skip it,” he said conspiratorially when Martin arrived, pink faced in the cold of the February afternoon. “Let’s do something else.”

“I don’t know if…” Martin began. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” Mike said. “Come on Martin, come with me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week,” he added, surprising himself with how true that was. 

“Ok,” Martin said, and the look of slight worry he usually wore disappeared for a moment.

“I’ve thought of something really fun for us to do,” Mike said. “The new viewing platform at the Tate.” He hadn’t seen it himself yet, but it was a windy day and the clouds were scudding across the sky at a rate of knots. Overlooking the river as it did, the view was bound to make people giddy. 

“You _really_ like heights, don’t you?” Martin said, looking him at him with an expression Mike couldn’t quite work out. 

Mike shrugged and gave what he hoped was a winning smile. Martin took a breath and gave a tiny nod. 

“Can we see a bit of art first?” he said. Mike bit down on a sigh. 

“Fine. Of course,” he said brightly. 

It was fine, in fact, to wander through the crowded galleries with Martin by his side. A man checked Martin out, then spotted Mike by his side and looked away again. Mike felt quite smug. Martin chatted with quiet enthusiasm about some of the pieces, and Mike listened, not really understanding Martin’s enjoyment but finding it quite charming. 

This was something he definitely didn’t remember ever having before. Companionship, he supposed. He’d been too wrapped up in himself, and had been too awkward and weird before the Vast, and afterwards he hadn’t cared much about the company other people other than to feed on or fuck. They’d seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 

Today though…a nagging doubt had crept into him. Mike pressed his cold fingers to the bullet scar on his chest and wondered if the Vast realised yet. Doubt was as bad as decay - a hint of it and it could bring everything crashing down around him. Mike tried to dismiss it. Too much time spent in the company of someone so very human, it was messing with his head. He’d fuck Martin, then he’d _fuck_ Martin, and deliver him into Peter’s hands. And for now, he’d just enjoy the ride. 

The art experience ended abruptly as they entered a room with an installation made of hundreds of analogue radios piled into a tower. They all started to scream simultaneously at Mike and he hurried back out again as people began to clutch at their ears. Martin followed, looking stunned. 

“You ok?” he said. 

“I think so,” Mike said, trying to look flustered instead of annoyed. _Fucking modern art._

“You still want to go up to the platform?” Martin said as they crossed the Turbine Hall towards the lifts. 

“Definitely,” Mike said. 

It was as good as he’d hoped. Clear, invigorating, and high enough that most people felt a little frightened around the edges. Quite delightful really. Mike gazed over the river, trying his hardest not to give into the temptation to let his Power go free and send everyone spinning to their knees. 

Realising he’d been out there alone for quite a while, Mike decided to go in and look for Martin who had hung back, staying inside. 

“I’m, er...I’m ok right now. You go and take a look. I’ll get us coffee,” he had said, joining the queue at the counter. 

Mike saw Martin immediately, holding two coffees and speaking to that bloody man who’d been looking at him in the galleries downstairs. 

“Hello,” Mike said, walking quickly over and baring his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Who’s this?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” the man said. He was nice looking - fair haired, suntanned, tight body under a well tailored coat. Mike despised him. “We just got chatting in the queue. I was just saying to your friend that I’ve a real fear of heights. I’ve come all the way up here and then bottled it. Can’t make it out the door. Martin was just telling me about the support group…”

“Oh yes,” Mike said, his smile becoming rictus-like. “It’s excellent.”

“I’m very tempted to give it a try,” the man said, smiling at Martin. 

_Over your dead body_ , Mike thought. 

“Um, anyway, here’s your coffee,” Martin said, handing it to Mike. 

“Nice to meet you both,” the man said. “Perhaps I’ll give it another try.” He nodded towards the doors. 

“You do that,” Mike said, _looking_ at him. “Although I think you’ve already had a good look at the view you came up here for, haven’t you?”

The man’s smile faded abruptly, and he walked quickly away. 

“Are you going to come outside?” Mike said to Martin. 

“It’s a bit cold today,” Martin said, not looking at him. “It’s lovely up here though. Thanks for thinking of it.”

Mike smiled, a real one this time. “I’m just glad you like it,” he said and Martin glanced at him and relaxed. 

“That’s good know. I, er...I didn’t want you to be pissed off,” he said. “You’ve gone to all this effort to think of things to do and…”

“You’re allowed to have an opinion you know. Am I that frightening?” Mike said curiously.

“No!” Martin said. “You’re not actually frightening at all. Which is...sort of unexpected.” 

“I feel like there’s a lot about your previous dating experiences you need to tell me,” Mike said, leaning forward. “But if it’s your thing I can be as scary as you like.”

Martin went quite violently red at that and Mike wondered if all these dates and romance would be better replaced with a bit of well-timed menace. Bit of both, perhaps. 

They lingered a little, finishing their drinks. The staff seemed to be stacking chairs and preparing to close up, so Mike stood. “We should go back down.” He held a hand out to Martin, who hesitated, then took it. 

Mike hit the call button for the lift. 

It arrived quickly and just as Martin stepped into it, Mike let out an annoyed sound and hopped back out again. 

“I’ve left my scarf. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he called as the doors closed on Martin’s confused face. Lift gone, he turned swiftly and hurried outside, pulling his scarf from an inside pocket and winding it around his neck. 

_There he was._ Mike marched up to the fair haired man who had made it as far as the south west corner of the platform. Mike put a hand on his arm and dragged him around to face him. 

“What…” the man said trying to wrench his arm free. “Get off me!”

Mike took in a great gulp of his fear and opened himself to the Vast. 

“Get away from me,” said the man, panicking. Delicious. He hit Mike across the face but Mike only held him tighter. 

“You need to learn some respect,” he said, and watched with relish as the man’s face drained of all colour.

xxxx

Five minutes later Mike found Martin by the lifts. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Shall we head off?”

“Sure,” Martin said. “You seem...happy?”

“I just really like this scarf,” Mike said, and his smiles must have been contagious, because Martin gave him a hesitant one back. 

_Martin Blackwood, you’ve got a dimple in your right cheek that you’ve kept secret from me for a fortnight_ , Mike wanted to say. Instead, he pulled Martin towards him and kissed him briefly on the mouth. Martin’s lips were soft and slightly open, and he let out a tiny startled sound that Mike very much wanted to force out of him again, immediately. Romance, romance, he reminded himself. 

“That’s for having a nice smile,” he said. Then taking Martin’s hand, they left the building. 

xxxx

 

“It’s going well!” Peter assured Mike later that week. He’d turned up at Mike’s flat again, unannounced. Mike might move if he kept this up. 

“Has Martin said anything?” Mike said, forcing himself to sound uninterested, but his heart sped up a little. 

“Not as such, but…” Peter grinned. “He’s been staring off into space. Doodling. Writing poetry.”

“Really?” Mike said, finding himself wanting to smile. “About me?”

“Oh I didn’t read it, he scribbles it down in that book of his. Something about stormy eyes. I assume those are yours - though can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”

“Right,” said Mike and turned away to put the kettle on before Peter could see his expression. Martin liked his eyes, enough to commit them to verse. That was...very strangely pleasing. 

“Anyway, like I said, you’re doing very well. I think he’s rather smitten. In truth, I’m a little jealous,” he said, with another unearthly smile. “I’d hoped to inspire a similar devotion in him myself. But this is just as good.”

“I’m going to need more money,” Mike said, taking two mugs down from the shelf. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Peter said. “How much longer will it take do you think?”

“Not sure,” Mike said noncommittally, taking the tea bags out of the mugs with his fingers. “You know Martin, he’s not exactly going to throw himself at me.”

“The clock is ticking, Michael,” Peter said gently. “I’m going to need him very soon.”

“Of course,” Mike said. 

Peter dropped another cheque onto the kitchen worktop. “Best be off,” he said, patting Mike rather too hard on the shoulder. 

Mike heard the front door slam looked down at the two undrunk cups of tea. He poured them down the sink and sighed.

xxxx

 

Over the next few weeks Mike continued to take Martin to all his favourite places. Dinner at the top of the Shard. A climb on the roof of the 02. The glass floor walkway across Tower Bridge. At the end of every date Mike would kiss Martin, and Martin would kiss him back - but he still seemed so hesitant and unsure that Mike didn’t want to push it. Or him. There was something holding Martin back that Mike couldn’t quite work out, but he very much wanted to find out. 

“My turn to choose this time,” Martin announced one day. “Don’t worry, there’s a view.” He had turned up to meet Mike wrapped up in a thick winter coat and a woolly hat with a bobble on it. 

“Grand,” Mike said, grinning at the hat, and let him take the lead. 

Martin took them to Hampstead Heath. They puffed up Parliament Hill, faces raw in the March wind. No one else was around in this weather, and the heath stretched out around them, empty. Nothing for Mike to feed on here, he thought, and tried to ignore the itching need. 

Reaching the summit, Martin led them to a bench with the best view. They looked down over London, the City shining in the low winter sun. A crow cawed loudly from nearby trees, and they could hear a dog barking near the running track down below. 

“Keats used to come here every day,” Martin said. 

“He wasn’t one of ours,” Mike said without thinking, winding an arm through Martin’s. “I thought he might have been, what will all the sky imagery and the early death, but…”

“What do you mean, one of ours?” Martin said. 

“Umm,” Mike said. _Shit._ “A...guy who’s into men.”

“Oh,” Martin said. “No, you want Byron for that. Or Shelley probably wouldn’t have said no.”

“It’s nice here,” Mike said, changing the subject. “Got it all to ourselves. Which is just as well because that hat is quite something, and I don’t know if I’d want to be seen in public with it.” 

“This is a great hat thank you, and if you don’t shut up I’ll make one for you too,” Martin said. 

“You _made_ that? Voluntarily?” Mike said. 

“Alright, that’s it, I’m making you one. And yours will have an even bigger bobble on it,” Martin said. 

“You cruel bastard,” Mike said. He leant into Martin’s side and Martin took hold of his hand. They fell silent. The light changed as dark clouds began to gather. 

“Is this high enough for you?” Martin asked suddenly. “I mean, could this...be enough?”

“Enough for what?” Mike said. 

“I mean, not just this. Not here particularly, but the idea of it. A compromise. The view without the danger,” Martin said. 

“I don’t understand,” Mike said. Martin sighed and smiled at him. 

“No, it’s alright. I didn’t think you would. I’m not sure I do either,” he said. 

“But…” Mike stopped and looked up. “Was that lightning?”

Martin looked out across the heath. “Looks like it actually,” he said. “Better find somewhere to shelter.”

“Shit,” Mike said, and that old fear - a fear he hadn’t felt in decades - radiated through him. He’d been immune for so long, why now? More doubt, more fear. He wished he knew what was happening to him. 

“Right,” Martin said, looking at Mike’s face. “Ok. Don’t worry. There’s a pub about ten minutes walk away…”

“Too far,” Mike said, panic rising. Shit, shit. He could take them into the Vast, both of them, but he didn’t know if Martin would survive it. And for all he knew it was just a storm; just a normal, ordinary rainstorm…

The wind dropped and Mike could feel the electricity in the air. “Please,” he said to Martin. 

“Ok. Don’t worry,” Martin said, seeing his face. Taking Mike’s wrist, he broke into a run. Mike stumbled after him in blind panic, feeling the rolls of thunder from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He didn’t know how long they ran, just concentrated on trying like hell to match his stride to Martin’s. 

“Here,” Martin said breathlessly, tugging on Mike’s arm. Mike looked up. It was a bandstand - a ridiculous, Victorian thing of cast iron which looked like it had been dropped onto the heath in a whirlwind. He staggered up the steps after Martin just as the sky opened and the hailstorm began. 

“God,” Martin panted, sitting down in the centre of the floor and dragging Mike close. “What a racket.”

Mike could barely hear him over the hammering of the hail on the roof and the thudding of his own heart. What the hell. He took a deep breath.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Martin said. He pulled Mike against him as hail bounced off the roof and ricocheted into the bandstand. Mike’s breathing calmed. It was just a storm - an ordinary storm, but he’d been as terrified as he had been when he was sixteen watching the Distortion that followed him. 

_Thank god for Martin._ he snuck a look at him, at his perpetual little worried frown and the ridiculous hat, and the solemn brown eyes watching the sky. 

“I love the smell of a storm,” Martin said suddenly. "Don't you?"

In a surge of feeling Mike turned and kissed him. He felt rather than heard the sound Martin made as he did; a little surprised exhale. Then Mike shifted, straddling Martin’s thighs and Martin groaned against his lips and grabbed at his upper arms. Mike buried both hands in Martin’s hair, the fizzing of electricity beneath the skin of his scar only just barely restrained. 

“Watch the hat,” Martin murmured and Mike laughed against his mouth. 

“Fuck the hat,” he said, and kissed him hard and open mouthed. Martin kissed him back without hesitation, tongue pushing into Mike’s mouth. Mike sucked on his tongue and Martin moaned again, cupping his hands around Mike’s arse and pulling him closer. 

Mike was so hard he felt lightheaded. He’d never ever done this during a storm, he had no idea how it would feel when he wasn’t terrified. Martin pulled him down on top of him, gasping and arching up, holding Mike so tightly against him that Mike thought he’d come then and there. “Fuck,” he moaned, hands scrabbling at Martin’s belt. He’d been holding back long enough; he wanted Martin squirming under him as he took him in his mouth and he wanted it now. 

“Uh, t-there’s someone coming,” Martin said, sitting up suddenly, tipping Mike onto the floor. Mike sat up too, following his gaze. 

Some stupid _arsehole_ of a dog walker and their three arsehole dogs was heading for the bandstand. 

Martin did his coat back up quickly. Mike concentrated on not flinging this silly cow so far into an empty sky that even his God wouldn’t be able to find her. He gave a frustrated whimper against Martin’s neck and Martin laughed softly. 

“Probably just as well,” he said. 

“Just as well my _arse_ ,” Mike said. “And you wouldn’t be saying that either if you knew how hard I was about to suck you off.”

“ _Mike_ ,” Martin said, with a shocked laugh. 

“Oh isn’t this storm awful?” the woman said, coming up the steps in her ugly purple waterproof. The dogs jumped all around Mike and Martin, shaking themselves and generally being smelly and over familiar. 

“Awful,” Martin said. 

Mike watched Martin make small talk with the woman, making a fuss of the horrible wet dogs and giving them treats that the woman handed him. She was smiling at him. _He’s kind_ Mike thought, in an unpleasant realisation. _I like him. I don’t want Peter to have him._

He wanted to scream suddenly. He’d been, if not happy, then content, until he let that fucker from the Beholding into his house. The magnificence of the Vast, the relief he’d known in discovering it - all this had satisfied him, and his God had been well fed. Everything had made an unshakeable sense. 

Everything since then had been a mess. And now to top it off, this man - ordinary, unremarkable, too human for comfort - had somehow worked his way into his head, filling him with fear and doubt and other feelings that he really didn’t want to admit to. 

He blinked, realising the stupid woman was talking to him about the weather. 

“...it just came out of nowhere! I wasn’t expecting it at all.”

“No,” Mike said. “Neither was I.”

xxxx

 

“Strike while the iron’s hot, Michael,” Peter said, tapping two sweeteners into the cup of tea he wouldn’t drink. “The boy’s in a state over you.”

“What do you mean?” Mike said. 

“Exactly what I said. The rota’s a disaster, he hasn’t looked at a statement in weeks, not even secretively...he’s silent and distracted and he took two new notebooks from the stationery cupboard this week, just for poetry.” Peter chuckled and patted Mike on the back. “You’ve done it.”

“Right,” Mike said. 

“Time for the big break up,” Peter said. “Now, it’s not really something I’ve done personally, but I believe it involves a certain amount of shouting. He might cry, but I expect you won’t mind that. Just make sure you hit the right spots. Make him feel as though you never wanted him and no one else ever will either. You could touch on his mother, if needs be - she hates him. Funny, isn’t it? My mother adores me and I’m considered pretty unpleasant on the whole.”

“I don’t think he’s ready yet,” Mike said.

“Well, I think he is,” Peter said. 

“And I think you’re wrong,” Mike ground out. 

“ _Careful,_ ” Peter said, terrible suddenly. Mike felt speared by a twisting emptiness within him, a feeling of utter desolation. 

Mike slammed back at him with a rush of his own Power, just to show him what he could do. He wasn’t standing for this. 

The light overhead flared impossibly bright and blew in a tinkle of broken glass. 

Peter drew back, smiling again, glass glittering in his hair. “Temper temper,” he said. “Remember what it was like in that wet, lonely grave? This time I’d make sure Decay knew about you too.”

“No need for that,” Mike said as calmly as his thudding heart would allow. 

“So you’ll do as I ask,” Peter said. A statement not a question. “Tomorrow.”

Mike nodded briefly and turned away.

xxxx

The Monument on the weekend was probably Mike’s favourite place in London. Especially on a cold winter afternoon, just as it was beginning to get dark. The City was deserted, not even any tourists wandering around, and Mike and Martin had it all to themselves.

“Is this even open?” Martin said as they approached it. But it was. They bought tickets and Martin joked about the narrowness of the staircase and whether he might get stuck. 

Mike looked him up and down as though assessing him, then winked. “You look the perfect size to me,” he said, and basking in the glow of Martin’s embarrassment, he turned and began to climb. 

There were 311 steps to the top of the Monument, and with each one, Mike felt his Power rising up with his excitement. He controlled it tightly, not wanting to send Martin dizzy, or at least, not on the stairwell. But it was a glorious place, with a horribly narrow ascent and a tiny platform at the top with barely room to pass another person. And only a thin cage over the top protecting those who climbed it from plummeting from the edge. 

They stepped out into the light of the winter afternoon and looked at the view below them. 

“I’ve never been up here before,” Martin said. He was breathing a little hard, cheeks flushed pink and Mike wanted to kiss him.

 _Make the most of it, Crew,_ he said to himself. Last date and all that.

“What’s up?” Martin asked. “You’re looking at me really weirdly.”

This was ridiculous. He could do what he liked. He wasn’t going to dump Martin. He was going to take him home to bed, and after he’d fucked him into the mattress he’d confess everything and Peter could just shove it up his arse. 

That decision made, he brightened. “No reason. Just...I love it here,” he said. “Come here.” 

He reached up and kissed him. Martin swayed a little and fell back against the railing, the cage bending. Mike kissed him harder. 

“Don’t…” Martin began, off balance and struggling, and a spike of pure fear slammed into Mike. 

He wasn’t prepared for it. It was too good, too intoxicating. The height and the sky and the feel of Martin against him, his heart beating hard with fright and his warm hands gripping Mike’s waist tightly. No, he was not at all prepared. His Power rose up in a rush and spread out, wide as the sky.

“ _Stop_ ,” Martin was saying, but it was so distant, so insignificant. “Stop this NOW.”

“Stop what?” Mike said. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Shut up, just shut up.” Martin said. He wrenched himself away, stumbling, looking for the door to the stairwell. It was gone. “Great,” he said half to himself. He put his face in his hands for a moment. Then he looked at Mike again, face furious. 

“Let me go,” he said. 

“Martin, I really don’t know what you mean,” Mike said, trying to keep his voice even, but the view of London had gone and the Vast was streaming out in front of him. “I’ve taken you to my favourite place and you’re being quite rude.” The wind was whistling past both their ears, clouds moving fast over a sky empty of birds or aeroplanes. Mike opened his mouth and breathed in the wind. 

“I didn’t think you’d do this. I really thought we…”

“We what?” Mike said. 

Martin stared at him. “We...nothing. I-I know who you are,” Martin said. “I’ve always known.”

“What do you mean?” Mike said, barely able to take in Martin’s words.

“This,” Martin said, grabbing the neck of his sweater, pulling it down. “Your scar. I know about it. Everything.”

“ _What?_ ” Mike said again, wrenching himself out of Martin’s grasp. 

“I worked it out. You...the way you behaved at the support group, and some lines of research I was following for Peter…”

Fucking Peter. Not even able to keep Martin off the scent for a couple of weeks. 

“And I wanted to...I was finding out if you could help Jon. You did before, or at least you didn’t kill him. And then you started, I dunno, wanting to date me, and I wasn’t sure…I thought I could stop you killing some people. I distracted you from Julie...”

Mike stared at him. 

“And I thought I’d be able to keep myself safe if I kept myself away from any...edges.”

“So, what. You kept coming out on dates thinking I might _kill_ you?” Mike said. “For the sake of the Archivist?” 

“Um. Yeah,” Martin said. Mike let out an incredulous laugh. 

“Glad you managed to force yourself. I only asked you out because I was told to,” he said. “Did you know that?”

“No,” Martin said, and Mike saw hurt on his face. It would be so easy to do what Peter asked him to right now. 

“Usually I just sleep with humans and discard them. You’ve had special treatment,” he added nastily.

Martin went pale as the sky, eyes sparking with fury. 

“Oh really? I feel so special. Who put you up to it - Elias? He’s the only one who could have known that I’d say yes to going out with you. I guess he picked up that information when he was tearing up my mind. Oh Martin, here’s why your mother hates you, and oh how interesting, you like fucking smaller men who order you around. Well don’t think I…ugh.” Martin crumpled, hit by a wave of vertigo as Mike’s Power escaped him. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Mike dropped to his knees. He got Martin to sit up. “I didn’t actually mean to do that.”

Martin sat staring at him, breathing hard. His eyes flickered to Mike’s scar which was no doubt standing out in stark relief since opening himself to the Vast only moments ago. “What _did_ you mean to do?” He swallowed and his fear washed over Mike, bittersweet. “Oh god, your eyes. Don’t. I’m not afraid of heights, it won’t even be worth feeding me to it…”

Mike leant forward and kissed him. Martin made a small sound of protest, putting his hand against Mike’s throat, accidentally touching his scar. It was so intense Mike almost cried out. He could feel traces of the Beholding examining his scar and wondered if Elias was getting some echo of what was happening. He kissed Martin harder, taking hold of his hands and tried to take him into the Vast, away from the Eye. 

Martin _resisted_. Mike felt the shock of his refusal all along his scars. Well, this is what Peter must mean about him. God how fascinating. 

“Let me go,” Martin said, his voice weak but his will strong, breath warm against Mike’s lips. Mike teased his lips open with his tongue, flickering it inside the heat of Martin’s mouth. For a brief moment Martin didn’t move at all, and Mike began to pull away. Then Martin shifted closer, grabbing Mike’s arms tightly, and kissed him back slow and deep. Mike felt jolts of his power spark from his fingertips into Martin’s skin and he gasped but didn’t pull away. 

“Come home with me,” Mike said, feeling dazed with lust. “We should talk. We should also sleep together immediately.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Martin said breathlessly. “Elias will know.”

“It wasn’t Elias’s idea, it was Peter. He put me up to this,” Mike said. 

Martin closed his eyes briefly, a snort of derisive laughter escaping him. 

“Of course it was,” he said. “And you agreed because…?”

“I don’t know if you've forgotten the slight matter of me being shot and buried thanks to your Archivist,” Mike said. “But I haven’t. Peter got me out of that and I owe him.”

Martin’s expression grew wary at the mention of Jon. “So what - you were meant to _seduce_ me, or, or dump me or something?”

“That was the general idea,” Mike said. 

“Right. Got it. And pathetic, heartbroken Martin would run straight into the loving embrace of the Lonely? Give me a break,” Martin said. 

Put like that it did sound ridiculous.

“Martin, listen,” Mike said. “This has not gone to plan. Unfortunately for everyone concerned I’ve come to like you, rather a lot.”

He watched Martin’s face closely to see if it was worth saying anything more. Martin looked slightly stunned so Mike pressed on. 

“Obviously you’ll be dumping _me_ after this, but do you think,” he paused, then thought _oh well_. “...is there any chance at all of a shag first? It’s just, you’re very attractive and it’s been pretty hard all this time not to just fuck your brains out, so I…Mmmph.”

Martin had pulled Mike down onto him, kissing him. The kisses were angry and wanting; the absolute opposite of Martin’s usual reticence. Mike’s desire flared, his energy fizzing beneath his skin and escaping from his hand, making Martin jump and tremble and grind up against him. Mike ground back, unable to stop his hand sending another shock into Martin’s skin. Martin moaned and came up for air. 

“That shock thing,” he said panting. “Your hand. Does that happen when you’re um...f-fucking too or…”

 _Oh he liked a little pain with his pleasure did he?_ Mike grinned. “Oh yes it very much does. Come home with me and I’ll show you.”

“Ok,” Martin said, eyes darkening as he said it.

They got back to Mike’s place somehow, once they’d stumbled their way back down the stairs, Mike shoving Martin up against the wall to kiss him some more every few steps, or Martin in turn dragging him up into an embrace. No need for romance now, and the relief was immense, especially as all Martin’s hesitation seemed to have melted away with his decision to go home with Mike. 

“Nice place,” Martin said. “You’ve got a lot of boo…” Mike silenced him with another kiss, walking him backwards towards the bedroom. 

“So, um...” Martin said as Mike shoved him backwards onto his bed. “You’re definitely not doing this because Peter told you to?” He kicked off his trainers. 

“I’d very much appreciate you _not_ talking about Peter Lukas while I’m undressing you if you don’t mind,” Mike said, wrenching Martin’s belt open. 

“I just mean...how do I know…I mean it doesn’t matter but…” 

“You turn me on,” Mike said, yanking Martin’s jeans down, followed by his own. “That’s how you know. I’d fuck you whether Peter told me to or not. Which he didn’t, by the way, and can that please be the last mention we have of him while I’m trying to have sex with you.”

“Fine by me,” Martin said, grabbing Mike’s hand and pulling him down onto the bed to lie next to him. “God I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Well what about your precious Archivist?” Mike said. “Surely you and he…”

Martin froze and looked at him. “No! Never. We weren’t like that. He wouldn’t have wanted to.” 

Mike felt a spark of annoyance. More fool the Archivist. 

“Me and Jon, it’s…” Martin made a hopeless gesture. 

“Look I think we’re getting off the point,” Mike said. “Which is that _I_ want you, very much. I want to play with your cock till you come, then ride you till you come again,” Mike said, relishing the incredible colour Martin turned. “How does that sound?”

“Good,” Martin said hoarsely. “I don’t usually, um. Do the fucking.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be,” Mike said. 

Martin gave a little groan and kissed Mike, getting his hands up under Mike’s shirt and tugging it off, then sitting up to look down at him. 

“It’s sort of beautiful,” he said. 

The scar, of course. Martin started stroking his fingers along it, tracing the fractal patterns down his throat, his arm, his torso. Mike lay there, breathing hard. He’d been touched there before, but never like this. Never with someone _knowing_. It felt completely different. 

“I can feel it,” Martin said in a hushed voice. “Your power.” He pressed his fingers into a wide branch of the scar right in the sensitive skin of his inner arm and Mike shuddered. My god, that felt amazing. 

“Can I…” Martin lowered his mouth to the scar and began to trace it with his lips. 

Mike moaned in surprised arousal, his cock standing up hard as iron. Martin brushed a quick hand over it before giving his attention back to the scar - stroking it with his lips and fingertips, setting Mike’s every nerve alight. He moaned and gasped under Martin’s attention, as aroused as if Martin had been sucking him off. Martin pressed his fingers in harder, and Mike could feel the pulse of power leap beneath his skin. 

“Oh _God_ ,” he managed. 

“That ok?” Martin said. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” Mike said. “I…”

Martin dipped his head to the branching pattern on Mike’s throat and sucked. 

Mike came instantly, arching right off the bed, his cock jerking against his stomach. He was vaguely aware that he was making quite a lot of noise but he couldn’t have given less of a shit. 

Opening his eyes he looked straight into Martin’s brown-eyed gaze. 

“Hi,” Martin said. “You liked that then.”

“Shut up,” Mike said, not gracing that inane question with an answer. “Your turn. Sit back and spread your legs.”

“Is this when the ordering about starts?” Martin said. 

“And not a moment too soon,” Mike said. God, he’d been planning to take complete charge, have Martin fall apart under _his_ hands, not the other way around. Time to rectify that. 

Martin watched him as he sat up and got between his legs, pumping lube onto his fingers. 

“Legs up Martin. Open yourself,” Mike said, and Martin shivered at the filthy instruction. 

“That’s right. Now, deep breath. This might hurt,” he grinned, and pressed his finger into Martin’s body. 

Martin’s whole body jerked at the shock.

“Too much?” Mike said. Martin panted. 

“N-no,” he said. “Keep going.”

Mike slid his finger out, then pushed it back in again and Martin cried out, his head falling back against the pillows. Mike began to finger him in earnest, feeling Martin’s muscles working around him, clamping tight as the power flowed in surges from his hand. He pushed another finger inside, stretching him, making him writhe. Martin gasped and cried out quietly, but pushed himself onto Mike for more. 

Mike gave it to him, pulse after pulse, more fingers, more energy until Martin’s muscles were gripping at Mike’s fingers so tightly he barely had to move them. Instead he pressed them hard against Martin’s prostate, letting the Power roll off of them and sending him half wild. With his other hand he stroked Martin’s rock hard cock trying to keep rhythm with the movements of Martin’s body. 

Martin was incoherent. “I can’t...” he said, arching up. “Please…” but before Mike could work out what Martin couldn’t he was coming, hands twisted in the sheets. Mike kept stroking him inside and out right through the orgasm until his cries became protests of sensitivity. 

“You’re still hard,” Mike said, running his hand up and down Martin’s wet, flushed cock. 

“I know, I know, that doesn’t usually hap…” but Mike was moving his hand again and Martin lost the end of his sentence in a moan. 

“Shhh, I’m not nearly finished with you,” Mike said, gripping Martin’s cock and stroking it hard. “You’re going to be a lot of fun. Hands and knees.”

Martin turned over obediently and Mike began again. Within a few minutes Mike had wrung another orgasm from him, three fingers buried in his arse and his other hand relentless on his cock. Martin’s arms collapsed beneath him as the intensity took him. He lay there shuddering. 

“No more,” he said, muffled by the pillow. “It’s too much.”

“Turn over then,” Mike said. 

Martin panted and did so, eyes dark and unfocused, and still hard. God, the time they had wasted. They should have been doing this for weeks. 

“Now do you remember the second part of my plan?” he said. 

“You...you’re going to ride me,” Martin said, cheeks flushing at the words. 

“Well remembered,” Mike said and climbed on top of him, appreciating the stretch to his thighs as he straddled Martin’s hips. God, he was so fuckable. He guided Martin’s cock to his hole and slid down inch by inch as Martin gasped with sensitivity. Oh this was going to be fun. 

He rode him slowly at first, relishing the strain on his muscles and the way Martin was so sensitive to the friction after two orgasms. They rocked together, watching each other, their rhythm lazy and gentle, until Martin stroked his hands down Mike’s scar, splaying his fingers across the branches. Mike groaned and moved faster, the feeling even more intense with Martin inside him. 

Martin slid his hands around Mike’s waist and Mike’s cock jerked at the feel of them almost meeting around him. Ohhh that was…

“Do you, um. Do you like it like…” Martin rolled his hips up, gripping Mike’s waist tightly and pinning him onto his cock. 

Mike moaned with pleasure. “Yes, _fuck_. Like that. Hard.” 

He let Martin push up into him, take control while he just took it. And Martin did just what he was told, thrusting up inside him over and over, overwhelming him. _He was so close_. He leant forward, kissing Martin deep and filthily, and Martin came again; a long, shuddering climax this time that left him spent and softening. 

Martin looked up at him, panting. 

“Open your mouth,” Mike gasped and straddled Martin’s chest. Martin obeyed, leaning forward and sucking Mike into his mouth so fast and deep that Mike could only tangle a hand in Martin’s hair and hold on as he came harder than he could ever remember. He felt Martin swallowing around him and with a final gasp he pulled out and collapsed against Martin’s chest. 

They lay together as rain fell against the window. 

“So, what now?” Martin said breaking the silence. 

“Give me a chance,” Mike said drowsily stroking his chest. “I know I’m not human but I’m not that energetic.”

“Shut up, I don’t mean that. Peter wants me for the Lonely,” Martin said as Mike traced a pathway from one of his nipples to the other with a finger. “And if I…” he stopped. 

“How can you give yourself to the Lonely now?” Mike said. He spread his fingers on Martin’s chest, feeling for his fear. That ache at the heart of him which had been there all along - where had it gone? Subdued, muted. Replaced by hope. Mike smiled suddenly at the realisation, not only because he’d fucked Peter’s plans so beautifully, but because despite everything, Martin wanted him. 

“Stay here with me,” Mike said. “That institute is dangerous. Peter kills people.”

“You kill people,” Martin said, looking dazed. 

“I do. But I’ll keep you alive,” Mike said ghosting his lips along Martin’s. 

“Peter will find out,” Martin said. 

“No, he won’t. Forget him. Just go into work on Monday and pretend I’ve dumped you. You know: get drunk at lunch time and don’t come back to work, write a poem about how all men are faithless bastards, curl into a ball on the floor and sob your heart out…”

“You think a lot of yourself don’t you?” Martin said. 

“Rude,” Mike said, sending a tiny spark of energy into the nipple he was tracing a finger around and Martin sucked in a breath. 

“He’ll know I’m not lonely anymore,” he said. Mike nodded. 

“Yeah, he’ll work it out. But not straight away, so we’ve got time to think of a plan B. Probably you going back to the Archives, seeing as you’re in this up to your neck.”

“I...I _really_ don’t think that is going to work,” Martin said. 

“It will work. I will _make_ it work,” Mike said fiercely, the bedroom light flaring. Martin looked at him in shock but his eyes darkened a little and his lips parted. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just, there’s a lot at stake here. It’s not just me and you, is it? It’s everything.”

Mike kissed him. “Look, how about this. For as long as you are alive, I will protect you and do whatever is in my Power to stop the world from ending. And if that involves rescuing your bloody Archivist or even making a deal with fucking _Elias_ so Peter doesn’t take you for the Lonely, then so be it.”

It was possibly the most romantic thing Mike had ever said to anyone his whole life. He felt slightly light headed afterwards. 

“You’d get Jon back for me,” Martin said incredulously. “Get him out of the coma.”

“Yeah, sure, if I can. Obviously you’re not allowed to be in love with him any more,” Mike said. 

Martin gave a surprised laugh. “Obviously,” he said. 

“And if you are I’ll push you both off a skyscraper.”

“Nice,” said Martin. 

“I’d let you choose which one,” Mike said. 

“Sweet of you,” Martin said. 

“I know. So…” Mike said, not quite able to make it a question. 

“I’m thinking,” said Martin, beginning to smile.

xxxx

“Bravo, Michael,” Peter said as they strolled along Chelsea Embankment a week later, an icy wind blowing off the river. “You did an excellent job.”

“Really,” Mike said. He’d suggested they meet here near the Institute instead of his flat, not being able to bear the thought of Peter grinning at him across his kitchen table. 

“Really! He’s completely distraught. Found him listening to that old statement of yours and crying the other day. And he’s _much_ more pliable. I think he’s really ready to join me now. I’m very pleased.”

“So - debt repaid?” Mike said, stopping and looking at Peter. 

Peter smiled. “Absolutely. Consider us even.”

“Grand,” Mike said. 

“Anyway, better go. This job, I don’t know. The staff need a great deal more oversight than you’d expect. I’ll...see you around?”

“Doubtful,” Mike said. 

“Sure. Great hat by the way,” Peter said over his shoulder as he walked away. He made a gesture above his own head. “I like the bobble.”

“Thanks,” said Mike, and looked away to hide his smile.


End file.
